


Arimaa

by A_Virtuous_Pyromaniac, ozzie_prey



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: After the End of the Comics, Alternate Universe, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Original Characters - Freeform, Retired Mercs, Team Vanguard, who are also sort of canonical?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 00:42:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18487774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Virtuous_Pyromaniac/pseuds/A_Virtuous_Pyromaniac, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozzie_prey/pseuds/ozzie_prey
Summary: Set in an alternative universe where Team Vanguard survives the final battle with the Classics.Team Vanguard has retired, but its mercenaries haven't been able to leave their pasts behind them. Vanguard's Medic and Engineer spend Christmas together, comfort each other, and contend with trauma.





	Arimaa

**Author's Note:**

> So...Team Vanguard. Ozzie_prey and I have a truly baffling amount of headcanons for the this briefly-mentioned but nonetheless canonical mercenary team. This story is one of them. It began as an informal rp that I liked so much as I had to preserve it as prose. 
> 
> A bit of background on the relevant mercs:
> 
> EIR JONSDOTTIR: The Vanguard Medic. From Bifrost, Iceland. During her time on the team, Eir had amnesia that prevented her from remembering anything before her 18th birthday. The final battle with the Classics caused her to recover lost memories in which she and her twin sister were victims of Nazi experimentation. Eir appeared to go insane, and spent 1972-1974 in a mental hospital in Calais, France. In 1974, she escaped and found Kurien, who was living in Biarritz, near the French-Spanish border. 
> 
> KURIEN EL-KHOURY: The Vanguard Engineer. From Damascus, Syria. Kurien joined Team Vanguard with his sister, Rabka, who served as the team's Demowoman. Rabka died from battle wounds while waiting for the Classics to interrogate her. The siblings' large family blamed Kurien for her death and disowned him.
> 
> JULIA WOLFE: The Vanguard Heavy and the team's perpetually cheerful leader. From Austria. Raised in a circus and retired to a remote agrarian commune. She doesn't appear in the story, but she's mentioned

Eir’s eyes were open and, nominally, she was watching television. _Le père Noël à les yeux bleus_ played out in front of her, but none of it was registering. Nothing was really registering except the dull throb of panic accumulating somewhere inside her skull. It had been building up for days, starting like radio static and increasing in volume until it became a hard-edged blast of white noise that drowned out everything else. If it got any louder, she’d be flailing and screaming and ripping out clumps of her hair.

Over and over, she’d told herself that she wouldn’t allow herself to get to that point. Currently, Kurien was as sick as she, maybe even sicker. He was in no state to deal with a muddled Eir, to talk her down from one of her episodes. So she’d confined herself to couch, as if a sudden movement might trigger something. Even after three mindless Christmas specials, she felt like glass under tension, or an onion dipped in liquid nitrogen. Unremarkable to the eye, but ready to shatter at the slightest touch. Trembling under the force of her own self-destructive energy.

Some part of Eir was vaguely aware that she was eating cold Chinese takeout. General Tso’s congealing in this thick corn syrup sauce, little sesame seeds like an afterthought. She’d ordered it, hadn’t she? The memory had become vague, though it had only been an hour or two. After – what was it, thirty-six or forty-eight hours – without eating, she’d suddenly had a little burst of a desire for food. Just the smallest little burst; not enough to motivate her to turn on the stove or even peel a banana. But by the time the food had arrived, her appetite had faded. She’d let the little cache of cardboard boxes go cold on the counter, only to start eating when she began shaking with hunger.

The television went to commercials. Eir put something in her mouth. It was supposed to be chicken, but was really something closer to a blob of breading. Sesame seeds were probably going all over the sofa, but she couldn’t bring herself to look, much less care. Slobby, yes, but it managed to blend in with everything else. The house was a disaster. One of Kurien’s housebots had broken down a few days before, and another had burned itself out trying to do double duty. So dirty dishes had accumulated in the sink.

That Kurien might fix the bots was out of the question. For the past couple days, he’d barely been out of bed, only creeping to the kitchen and back when he thought Eir wasn’t looking.

Despite her state, Eir didn’t want to bother him. Sure, Kurien would have never used the word bother, much less asked her to leave, but Eir wasn’t stupid. If Kurien was holing himself up in his room, creeping about and avoiding her, how could it mean anything other than a desire for solitude?

The commercials went on and on. Those chirpy, cheerful sounds drilled straight into Eir’s brain. Too many fleeting images with too many bright colors. It was like staring into a tank packed with hysterical tropical fish. Too many voices, too. Eir might have spoken French fairly well, but right now, none of it was recognizable as words. High, squeaky, nasal sounds. Manically happy and thoroughly unreal, like a fever dream or else a fairy tale.

Then, suddenly, Eir was on her feet. Her body seemed to drag her over to the television with nary a concern for what she wanted. The next thing she knew, she’d ripped the TV’s plug from the socket, and she was crouching beside it, cord in hand, panting a little. No sound except for her breathing. It was loud in her ears, unnaturally so, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the echoes of voices.

There were so many voices. All of them threatened to burst from the confines of her memory and into the present. Some of them were in German; Eir couldn’t remember the exact words, just the general shape of the language and the timbre of the accompanying laughter. The more recent voices were mostly in English. English voices fighting offense, English voices fighting defense. The accented ones outnumbered the native speakers. It went on and on, but they rushed towards a climax. The English broke apart here, evolved into French, Arabic, and Mandarin. German, too, though this German was friendly. And then, even all those odd and unpronounceable syllables lost their edges and dissolved into terrified screaming. Screams like those didn’t need any particular language. There weren’t any words that could do them justice.

Eir realized she was shaking now, and that both hands were twisted up in her hair. She needed Kurien _now_. Wobbling into a standing position, she lurched towards the house’s master bedroom. Forget the fact that she was bothering him. If she was alone for a moment longer, she’d shatter, and sharp shards of her would spill all over the floor. Or else she’d start screaming, kick in the TV, and punch out a few windows. Either way, everything would be in pieces.

***  


Kurien had probably been asleep for nineteen of the past twenty-four hours. He’d have liked to keep right on sleeping, but his over-rested brain was having none of it, so he just lay there with his eyes closed. He’d have liked to pull the covers up to his chin, but at some point, he’d kicked the sheets and the comforter loose, so the blankets were twisted and rumpled around him. It made him feel like a rodent in a nest, which was just as well, because he probably stank like a rodent, too. He wasn’t sure when his last shower had been. Probably three or four days, judging by the stubble on his face, which was really more like a proper beard by now.

A shower and shave would be nice, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Everything hurt. His knees and ankles hurt more or less constantly, these days; he was used to that. The dull pressure headache was worse, though he was sure that was a direct result of his painfully overstuffed stomach.

Humans weren’t meant to gorge themselves and do nothing all day. Kurien knew that perfectly well, but he couldn’t seem to stop. There was something methodical about eating. Maybe it was the texture of food, or maybe it was that chewing and swallowing was soothing. It certainly wasn’t flavor; after a certain point, food seemed to lose its taste. At any rate, eating distracted him. Made him wonderfully numb like nothing else could. Or at least, the act of eating did that. Beforehand was always filled with tension and shame as he tried to creep to the kitchen without Eir seeing – he couldn’t have borne to worry her. Afterwards always caused him disgust, and on particularly bad days, physical pain.

Kurien’s stomach lurched and he curled himself up tighter. He was so full that he couldn’t straighten his back. So he lay on his side, half curled up. He would have liked to work himself into a proper fetal position, but his gut got in the way. Two years of more-or-less constant binge eating had left him quite fat. It was more than just retirement fluff; it was the sort of fat that made people take a second look and judge. Not that it really mattered, because he seldom left the house these days. When he did leave, he stuck to the few shops in the immediate neighborhood, where everyone had gotten used to the sight of the silent, obese Arab. Kurien would have lived the rest of his life like that. Mostly homebound, in bed on the bad days, reading or tinkering with his robots on the good. Pretending that the world ended at the fence that marked his property line.

Until Eir had showed up. Dirty, half-starved, the throes of withdrawal from seven or eight different psychiatric drugs. On the run from a mental hospital that had done her no good, so desperate to stay away that she’d threatened to physically fight him. He’d taken her in; what else could he do for someone who was practically family? Never mind that he could barely take care of himself. Family was more important; the self was part of a family. He’d told himself that, and had sworn he’d keep things together for her.

He’d failed at this, of course; like graduate school and the booby-trap system on the old base and keeping Rabka alive. If it was important, it was sure to end in a disastrous failure. This attempt at caring for Eir was stupid, he told himself, shifting in bed. Utterly moronic. He should have known better than to try.

It was wrong to keep Eir in a dirty house and then ignore her. At least at the hospital, there would have been someone to keep an eye on her, make sure she was clean and fed and not injuring herself. Maybe he should just give up. Call the hospital, and have them take Eir back.

“Kurien?” The voice was so small and timid he could barely believe it was her. “Are you awake?”

For a split second, Kurien wondered if Eir had somehow read his thoughts about the hospital and come to confront him. But he steadied his breath and raised his head to look at her. “Yeah?” His tongue felt thick and clumsy in his mouth, and his mind was so slow and blurry that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to form a complex sentence. Hopefully Eir wouldn’t require much talking.

“Can I come in?” Eir was wearing one of his hoodies, he noticed. It absolutely engulfed her scrawny torso. The hem came down almost to her knees, and it looked like she’d opened the door with one sleeve-covered hand. No pants, either. Just a pair of those lace-trimmed undies, the ones he’d bought for her so she’d have something other than the hospital underwear. He remembered looking over the selection, having to guess which kind she liked. Eir’s legs were long and white, almost painfully thin, with knobby knees. Had she stopped eating without a housebot to prepare meals?

“Sure.” Kurien tried to sit up a more, to look at her properly, but the movement caused a sharp, stabbing pain in his gut. “What’s up?”

“I don’t like being alone.” Eir was still hovering at the threshold of the door, shifting from foot to food as she didn’t quite believe the invitation was sincere. “Can I stay here? Just, just here?”

Kurien swallowed and sank back into the pillows, words of the prospective hospital call still hovering in his mind. Somehow, that seemed to reassure Eir, because the next thing he knew, she was inside and sitting on the floor, back pressed to the wall. She’d pulled her knees to her chest, both arms and legs tucked inside the hoodie as if she hoped into vanish into it. Kurien could mostly see wisps of the white-blond hair that spilled out from under the hood. Damn those hoodies. Ever since she’d moved in, Eir had been rather fixated on his discarded clothing. Mostly shirts and sweaters, all of them ugly and flimsy. There wasn’t much selection in the plus-size section. Quality or not, Eir would pick up anything he left lying around. It was a matter of smell, she’d said once. The clothes smelled like him, and this calmed her down.

Around then, Kurien looked away from Eir and noticed that his room was an embarrassing mess. Even worse than the rest of the house. The desk was covered in pencil shavings and scrap paper, and his calculator lay gutted, the batteries gone. He’d meant to replace them a week ago, and continuously forgot. Some of the paper and unopened mail had spilled off the desk and onto the floor, where it lay beside the tipped over swivel chair. In fact, most everything seemed to be on the floor. Used tissues, underwear, an unbroken bottle of cologne, and to his great humiliation, wrappers from the various food packages he’d smuggled up to his room. Originally, he’d made an effort to hide the wrappers in the garbage, but at some point, he’d lost the will to do it and started tossing them in the corner near the trash can. 

Eir didn’t seem like she was judging his mess, though. In fact, she looked thoroughly pathetic, huddled on the floor like that. It was hard to believe that Eir’s old arrogance had been a constant annoyance on the team. These days, Kurien mostly found himself wishing she had that arrogance back. Or maybe he just wished she looked like something other than a terrified animal.

Well, whatever Eir looked like, he couldn’t just leave her sitting on the floor like that. But what was he meant to do? Assuring her that everything would be okay would’ve sounded absurd. The very situation around them proved otherwise.

“You can sit in the chair,” he finally managed.

Eir looked up, and slowly, almost reluctantly, she began to slide her arms back into the hoodie’s sleeves. Then she stood, righted the chair, and moved it closer to the bed. Not exactly to the bedside, but closer than she’d been. Upon sitting, she immediately tucked her limbs back into the hoodie.

“I’m sorry.” Kurien almost muttered it into the pillows. “For the mess.” Let them think he was only talking about the things on the floor.

Eir sniffled and rubbed at her nose with one hand. “I left you Chinese,” she said, ignoring the apology completely. “In the kitchen.”

Kurien exhaled. “I’m not hungry.”

He had half a mind to spill to Eir and tell he that he planned to call the hospital. Eir would be upset, furiously upset, at the news, but how could he not tell her? Could he just have the recon people show up at his door and drag her off? That seemed crueler than anything he’d ever done as a mercenary. Here was Eir, by his bed, taking shelter in his presence. Trusting him as she displayed her raw and vulnerable parts. He couldn’t betray that trust, or he’d never be able to live with himself afterwards. Or maybe he could live with himself. He’d already sunk lower than he ever thought possible.

“Eir, I.” He took a long shaky breath. A futile effort to delay the hard part. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, you know,” she said suddenly.

“I…what? Fuck.” Mentally, he cursed himself for forgetting the date. The recon people would probably be home with their families. If he called the next day, whoever showed up would probably toss Eir in the padded cell at the police station while they waited for the proper people to finish their holidays. And when would that be? After the new year?

“Uh.” He felt the sudden need to say something else. “Are you doing anything for tomorrow?” Immediately, he knew what was an absurd question. Eir had no life outside of the house and him. Never went anywhere, despite him offering the use of his car. Never did anything, for the most part, though on the good days she sometimes dissected the frozen rats he’d been keeping for his snakes.

“I forgot to get a tree,” he said, as if to make up for the previous statement. “What kind of fucker forgets a Christmas tree?”

By now, Eir was tugging on the edge of her hood. Maybe she really was trying to disappear into it. “Don’t need a tree.”

Then, suddenly, she jolted herself straight, as if she’d suddenly remembered something. “I, um, I made you a card. It’s dumb, but I couldn’t go shopping, so I couldn’t get you a gift.”

Kurien’s heart sank as he thought of Eir reduced to making a card because she felt too mentally frail to go out. She’d put forth the effort despite her reduced circumstances, and he hadn’t remembered to do anything for her. “You didn’t…”

But Eir probably didn’t hear anything, because she was already hurrying out of the room. She was back a moment later, card in her hand and maybe a rumor of a smile on her face. It wasn’t a smile, exactly, but it looked like a bit of something cheerful had been mixed into the sadness.

The card had been made from a piece of drafting paper, with a green construction-paper tree pasted to the front. There were red baubles on the tree, and it looked like some of them had fallen off, because Kurien could see the exposed patches of glue. Something about the glue made him want to close his eyes. He didn’t want to imagine Eir rummaging through his workshop, hunting for supplies.

“You didn’t have to do anything, Little Spider.” God, he had a sudden desire to apologize for something. Something indistinct. Shame, maybe.

“Yeah, I did.” Eir’s voice was still small, but now there was conviction in it. “’Cause you let me live here. And I don’t do anything for you and I thought I should, I should do something.”

He couldn’t find the words to argue with this, so he sat up slowly and gingerly, and opened the card. The writing inside was slightly crooked, as if Eir hadn’t picked up a pen for a while.

 _To Kurien, Happy ~~Chris~~ ~~chr~~ jol. Love from Eir_.

“Sorry about that.” Eir pointed at the _jol._ “I got muddled up. Kept switching between English and Icelandic.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’d love it if it was written in wingdings.” Kurien gave Eir a smile that he hoped didn’t look too sad. The card had an undeniable charm, maybe because it was so obviously handmade. He’d probably save it; he’d never been any good at getting rid of things people had given him. “I’d hug you, but I kind of stink right now.”

He set the card down in his lap, suddenly thinking of Christmas mail in general. Not that there’d be much of anything from his family; they’d blamed him for Rabka’s death and probably scratched his birth date out in the family bible. His brother Yohannen was the only one with whom he had any contact, and Yohannen faithfully sent out the same card every year.

Eir moved forward, as if to hug him despite the stink, then paused. “Can, can I get into bed with you?” Her good eye was wide, nervous really. “Not to like, like do anything. I’m cold and I don’t like the dark and I really need to feel another person right now.”

Kurien paused. He’d often cuddled Eir in his favorite armchair; the physical contact could do wonders if she was on the verge of a panic attack. Technically, a bed wasn’t much different from a couch, but it didn’t feel the same. He’d never been in the same bed as a woman unless he was fucking her, and Eir was like his sister. The idea of having her in the same place as those other women felt wrong, incestuous almost. Sure, it was a stupid comparison, but he couldn’t shake the discomfort.

“How about this,” Kurien leaned forward a bit, trying to extract himself from the tangled sheets, “I take a shower and you go check the mail. Afterwards, we can cuddle in my chair.” Cuddling while filthy seemed just as distasteful as cuddling in bed. He might have sunk lower than he thought he could, but he hadn’t lost all class. And if it took the threat of classlessness to motivate him to move, then fine. He could live with that.

Eir finally looked genuinely pleased. “Okay. Can we have a blanket?”

“Yes, we can have a blanket.” Slowly, Kurien stood up. He wasn’t quite straight, just a little hunched so as not to hurt his stomach, but it was good enough. Eir made a happy sort of squeal, and then followed him into the hallway, only stopping when he went inside the bathroom. Damn, that woman really didn’t want to be alone.

Kurien turned the shower to steaming, then scowled at his reflection until the mirror fogged over. The beard in particular displeased him; it seemed so thick and dark and coarse. He’d always hated the feel of his own facial hair, but now, he wasn’t sure if he could shave. His head was still too foggy, his hands too clumsy, and his straight razor always tempted him towards bad ideas. The beard would have to stay, for now.

At least the shower felt wonderful, even if he didn’t want to confront his fattened, naked body, with all its stretch marks and rolls. The soap cut right through the layer of oil and evaporated sweat gathered on his skin. A long time dirty made it feel even better to be clean. Cleanliness was a good feeling. Almost enough to make him feel cheerful. Afterwards, he found a pair of clean pajamas that the housebot must have washed before burning out, and headed downstairs.

In the living room, he found that Eir had also opted for pajamas, though she was still wearing the hoodie and had draped a fleece blanket around her shoulders. Sure, she’d probably just put them on to get the mail, but it was a sight better than cuddling in her underwear. The mail itself was stacked on the coffee table, in between piles of old newspapers and dirty dishes. Yohannen’s card was immediately obvious from the Syrian postmark. Kurien picked that one up, and settled into his usual armchair, the big, overstuff kind he could sink into while he waited for everything to stop hurting. Eir hovered nearby, and he got the impression that she’d flop on top of him and cling like an octopus if allowed.

“Come on, sit down.” He reached out an arm to welcome her. “Just try not to put any weight on my stomach, okay? I’m…pretty sore.”

Eir bounced forward, looking entirely too grateful, then froze, her face filling with anxiety. “Then how should I sit?”

Kurien frowned. “Try sideways, across my lap.”

Eir must have been terrified of hurting him, because she practically sat down on his knees, leaning her torso towards his. It was awkward, but Kurien shifted and tried to take her into his arms. It did push on his stomach a bit, but he figured he could bear it. After a moment, Eir relaxed into him and pressed her face against his chest.

“How’s that? Warm enough for you?”

Eir inhaled as if trying to take in more of his smell. “I can hear your heart,” she said. “Good strong beat. So alive.”

Kurien sighed and pulled her closer, so close that his beard brushed against her forehead. Used his free hand to give her back a little rub. Her ribs and spine were still prominent, even through the layers of clothes. The way her boney body pressed against him suggested so much need, and that terrified him.

“Doing okay, Little Spider?” His voice pointedly cheerful. “I worry sometimes, you know?”

Eir closed her eyes and exhaled, her grip on the blanket tightening a bit. “I can hear them in my head sometimes, when it’s dark and quiet and it’s horrible.” She paused. “I was the last one left. I was all alone in the dark.”

They might have been the Classics or the Nazis. Kurien wasn’t sure and he didn’t know if the difference really mattered. He had his own memories, and as bad as they were, he knew Eir’s were far worse. But what could you say about memories like that? So he kept quiet and rubbed her back a little more. Then, looking for a distraction, he turned towards Yohannen’s card. Tried to open the envelope with one hand and got nowhere.

The sound of rusting paper made Eir open her eyes. “Help?”

“Please.” Kurien handed it over, and she tore the envelope open with her fingernails. The card had a glossy imagine of a Madonna and child, the figures full of light against a dark background.

Eir frowned at the image. “Yohannen is a boring Christian fart.” She handed the hard to Kurien and leaned against him again, really putting her weight on him this time. Kurien’s stomach lurched, but he ignored it and opened the card. The inside was packed with dense handwritten Arabic, but he could see the names of most of his siblings. Family drama, no doubt.

“Read aloud?” said Eir.

“How about not.” Whatever was written in the card would probably require a hefty emotional investment, and why should he put that forth for his estranged family?

Eir made a disappointed noise in the back of her throat and nuzzled his chest again. “That’s an ugly card.”

“Wh…what?” Kurien found himself suddenly defensive of Yohannen. “No it’s not.”

“Yes it is. Dark and brown. Who’s the lady?”

Kurien knew that not everyone came from a religious family, but still had a hard time keeping the surprise off his face. “Mariam. Uh, Mary in English. The mother of Jesus. This is typical Yohannen, okay? The priest practically has to send religious cards.”

Eir crunched her brow as if concentrating. “I think my mama used to believe in all that stuff. Virgen Maria, she used to say. Funny how other countries call her different things. If she existed, she’d be called the same.”

A mention of her mother was very rare. Eir never talked about her parents, though she brought up her twin sister often enough these days. The parents seemed more sacred to her, and stayed mostly tucked away. Kurien waited for her to continue, but nothing was forthcoming.

“Well, the historical Jesus spoke Aramaic, and it’s Mariam in Aramaic, same as Arabic.” If nothing else, Yohannen’s religion lessons were good for filling silences. But Eir seemed to be done with the subject, because she reached for the other card. The Austrian postmark meant that it must have come from Julia. How could Kurien have forgotten that Julia would send something out? Their old leader would have to be killed by a rampaging circus elephant before she would forget her team.

Julia’s note was nearly illegible, smeary and malformed letters all running together.

“Good god.” Kurien turned the card sideways and squinted at it. It almost helped. Near the end, one phrase had been written semi-neatly. _All my hugs to dearest Natter and Winterzwieg_. Viper and Winter Branch, Julia’s nicknames for the two of them.

Eir blinked. “She knows I’m here?”

“She called me in a panic after you escaped. Could also hear tears through the phone. I had some explaining to do, that’s for sure.” Julia had worried over both of them during that call. Asked if he was sure he was capable of taking care of Eir, then suggested that Eir might be better of living with her, in a remote leftist commune that spurned society and kept honeybees. Kurien might have agreed to send Eir there if it weren’t for the fact that Eir spoke no German.  The memory made Kurien bite his lip in guilt.

“Julia,” said Eir. “I love her.”

“Yes, I--” How could he possibly send Eir back to the hospital after he’d promised Julia? “Yes.”

Eir didn’t seem to notice any of this. “I can almost read this line. It says she’s coming to visit.”

Kurien squinted at the words, then looked around the room. “We should probably clean up before she comes. And put on clothes. And I need to fix the bots. And put new batteries in my calculator.” He sighed at the impossibility of the task.

“We’ll just need clothes. Julia is messy.” Eir’s tone started out cheerful, but she fell back into silence and something melancholy crossed her face. One hand wiggled out of the blanket and clutched his pajama shirt.

Kurien rearranged his arms around her. “Don’t be upset, Little Spider. Why do you look so sad when something reminds you that you’re loved?” 

Eir shrugged. “People always seem sad. Like Julia. Or you. Or, or Atlas and --” She paused. Swallowed. “Kurien, do you think I should have stayed?”

“At the hospital?”

“Yeah.”

He let out a breath, and as he did so, he couldn’t help but notice how delicate she felt in his arms.

And that her face was blotchy and red from frequent crying, the discoloration all the more obvious because she was so pale. Only a bit of her scalp was visible from under the hood, but there were obvious bruises from excessive hair-tugging. The word broken appeared in his mind and try as he might, it refused to go away.

“Do you feel like you need to go back?” Even as he thought about it, relief and loneliness welled up inside him, though he wasn’t sure which feeling was stronger. “If you need to go back, I’ll take you. Gotta make sure you get the care you need.” Throughout these words, he’d started clutching her more tightly, and the pain finally became too much. He tried to rearrange her a bit, but Eir would not be budged. There was probably no letting go of his shirt shy of breaking her fingers.

“Do you want me to go back?” Kurien’s stomach turned so forcefully that he tasted bile. He clenched his jaw and forced it down, praying that he wasn’t about to throw up. “I want you do be safe and happy. As much as possible. Eir, I--”

He was choking up by now, some combination of nausea and tears. “You know me. Could never torture worth shit. Can’t stand to watch people suffering, whether that’s here or at the hospital or whatever.”

Eir leaned back to touch his stubbly cheek and he saw that here eyes had welled up. “Don’t cry. Not you too.”

That must have pushed him over the edge, because he was suddenly crying properly. Salt water shone on Eir’s fingers. When she spoke again, her voice was barely more than a whisper. “I need you. I need to stay with you. But not if you’re unhappy because of me.”

“Then stay.”It came out with such sincerity that he knew he’d never manage to call the hospital. The sentiment was interrupted by another wave of nausea and more pain. He tried to rearrange her again, but his stomach was having none of it, so he half-guided, half-shoved her off his lap and hurried to the bathroom. Leaned over the toilet, retching, but amazingly, nothing came up. Then sat back heavily onto the floor, gasping and crying even harder. It took him a moment to the notice that Eir had followed him into the bathroom. She was still standing up, hands in the front pocket of the hoodie, peering at him in a way that seemed more curious than anything else.

“I’m sorry,” said Kurien. “I’m just tired and sick, okay? You didn’t make me cry, I promise.” He tried to wipe the tears with the back of his hand and only succeeded in smearing them around.

Eir kept right on peering, as one might at a zoo animal. “I can make you tea,” she said, surprisingly straightforward, so much so that Kurien could detect a trace of her old doctor voice. “Ginger tea. It helps with stomach cramps and digestions. Your stomach is stretched and strained to capacity, but ginger tea can help.” She was speeding up now, accelerating into rambling. “You have ginger in the cupboard, you promised we would make gingerbread and we didn’t, but that’s okay.” She trailed off, then seemed to compose herself. “I can make ginger tea.”

Kurien nodded. “Okay.” Took a shaking breath and tore off some toilet paper so he could wipe his eyes. Then, just to be fair, he offered another piece to her.

Eir shook her head and let out a little laugh. Fragile but familiar. Maybe all the horrors in the world couldn’t change the timbre of a person’s laugh. “It’s fine. I never really liked that American recipe of yours anyway. Too sweet. I’ll make you some tea, okay? Stay here.”

“I can do that.” He blew his nose on the toilet paper once she was gone. What time was it, anyway? Late afternoon or evening. Probably nearing midnight in Damascus, and rest of his family would be in church for candlelit mass. Kurien had once been an altar boy at those masses and continued to love them even after he stopped believing in god. There was something about those little spheres of light reflecting on the gilded icons and the feathery quality of the songs. If those songs had a shape, they would look like clouds of thurible smoke, hazy and indistinct but always going upwards. Saints’ eyes looked down from the walls and the bearded priests look down from the altar. He’d enjoyed the feel of the eyes on him, resting assured that he was being seen by people who mattered. All of this made for an atmosphere that was heavy and intoxicating; no wonder he’d been such a sincere believer as a child.

Come to think of it, this was probably only the second Christmas Eve he hadn’t spent in church. The other had been during the war. 1940 or thereabouts. He and Rabka were in the basement of their childhood home, the trappings of the makeshift chemistry lab all around them. The smells of earth and acid, Rabka’s plans of synthesis drawn on the wall in chalk. Making nitroglycerin was hard, she used to joke, but the ones who had to plant the improvised bombs had it far worse. Rabka and Kurien might be blown to bits if something went wrong, but their collaborators might be forced to dig their own graves before they were shot. Between the dangerous work and the windowless space and the Nazis in the street, was it any surprise they had forgotten the date?

Their brother Abragham had been the one to remind them. He’d squatted on the top of the steps and called down, as if he was too scared to invade their domain. Rabka had looked shocked at the news, then angry. But Rabka and Kurien could hardly rush off in that moment, they were draining the bottoms off a distillation column and analyzing its contents with thin-layer chromatography. Stop, and the nitroglycerin would disappear back into the mess of side-products. Rabka wouldn’t stand for that. She’d used those words with Abragham: I’ll never stand for that. Besides, this is wartime. War wasn’t supposed to be fun, anyway. If you happened to miss Christmas Eve, you swallowed your upset and carried on.

***

In the kitchen, Eir was boiling ginger root and water. She looked markedly steadier now that she had a task with some purpose, but still raised her eyebrows when Kurien appeared beside her. “I thought you listened when I told you do something.”

Yes, that was the familiar doctor voice. Of course she’d been irritated by this sudden disobedience from the one who had once been her easiest patient. Kurien had been the only one of the team who would reliably stay in bed, not use that muscle or swallow that medicine without having to be told twice.

How was Kurien supposed to explain that some old memory about a basement had made him want to get up? “I mean, I can go sit on the floor some more if you think that would help.”

Eir cracked a smile. “I’ll let you sit on a chair instead.”

“Yes, Doc.” Kurien sat down before the kitchen table.

Eir was still smiling a little as she poured the tea through a strainer and into a mug. “You’re also meant to go for a walk when you’ve overeaten.” She glimpsed at the window. Outside was completely black. “I mean, we don’t have to go for a walk.”

“We can walk tomorrow. Won’t bitch about it, I promise.” Kurien picked up the mugs.

Eir pulled up another chair and straddled it. She pulled her arms into the hoodie, but this time, it seemed more like a desire for warmth than protection. “And you should lie down while you drink you that. So you don’t get more cramps.”

Kurien froze. “Should I?” Lying down sounded wonderful, and if the tea really did help his stomach, maybe he could stretch out and relax properly. Take a moment to appreciate the fact that he was clean and warm between the blankets.

Eir would appreciate those blankets. Kurien couldn’t deny that the thought of her in his bed still made him uncomfortable, but nothing else about today had been comfortable, either. Besides, if comfort was a luxury for peacetime, then maybe it also belonged to the sane. They were ill, and if it took sharing a sickbed to get better, he’d deal with it. He’d do anything that worked.

“If I’m supposed to lie down while I drink this, maybe we should go to bed.” And before Eir could respond with uncomfortable gratitude, he added. “I can read aloud to you. I haven’t read anything for days.”

Eir stood even before he was finished talking. Upstairs, they straightened out the sheets and comforter. Only lit the room with the lamp, because Eir said the overhead lights reminded her of the hospital. Propped Kurien up on several pillows and put the mug in arm’s reach. Eir cuddled up against him, head on his shoulder, whitish curls spilling everywhere.  The tea was spicy and a little sweet; Kurien feel its warmth even after he’d swallowed.

“Pick a book?” said Eir. There was a stack on his bedside table, titles in French and Arabic and English. “Read it in French, will you? It’s such a nice language to hear.”

Kurien wasn’t about to argue with that; his French was better than his English anyway. The book on the top of the pile was The Game of Forgetting, which was in Arabic. Leave it up to Eir to assume he could translate as he went. He was already a hundred pages in and considered starting over so Eir could follow the plot. A familiar sort of plot, about an Egyptian family during French colonial rule. But then again, Eir’s eyes were already closed and she looked like she might nod off at any moment. She probably wasn’t going to try to follow the French.

So Kurien started on page 139. _“Even in tense moments between us, I used to find in her that self-necessitating existence which challenges my anger, my rebellions, my artificial illusions. She has always been like a root striking deep in the depths of the earth, unshaken by storms, unscathed by hurricanes.”_

He looked over at Eir. She was practically snoring. He’d probably get drooled on before the night was over, not that it mattered. So he continued to read silently.  _Her existence precedes and extends: it infiltrates into my pores to remind me, whenever I forget, that its burning flame does not get dim. It is like a yearning for one’s homeland, like longing for the soil of one’s birthplace, like songs of poetry latent in one’s psyche._

Once the tea was gone, he put out the light.

***

They slept until noon the next day. Kurien made eggs and fried tomatoes, not really caring if it was supposed to be breakfast or lunch. They went on the walk he’d promised Eir, a few slow laps around the neighborhood. Afterwards, they found themselves sitting in the living room. It was still a wreck, but the cleaning didn’t seem so impossible by daylight. Tomatoes and a walk were fine, nice even, but Kurien wished they could do something special. It was Christmas, after all.

Then he noticed his chess set, half-hidden between the couch and the chassis of the burned-out housebot. “Want to play?” he picked up the box and waved it at Eir. “But not chess. I can’t stand chess.”

Eir had never heard of doing anything else with a chess set, so Kurien found himself teaching her the rules of arimaa. The starting arrangement of the pieces could be anything they wanted, and they used coins to mark the locations of the death pits.

Get a pawn to your opponent’s home row to win.

“You any good at strategy games?” Kurien set up his pieces in the way he usually did. Pawns in the front, each one flanked by more powerful pieces. He found himself suddenly surprised by the fact that he had to ask. After sixteen years of working with Eir, had they really never played a board game? Then again, they’d always been so busy while on base and camaraderie-building had been unofficially discouraged.

Eir grinned. “Oh, I’m very good.”

Kurien wasn’t sure if he believed her. But he wanted to make the game’s strategic possibilities obvious, so he played carelessly, tossing his pieces outward and grabbing as many of Eir’s chessmen as he could. Jumped on the offense with few reservations, just as he often did in life. Then Eir won the third game, and he was delighted. “Damn, you weren’t lying.”

“Told you I was good.”

“So you are.”

“Better than you’d thought I’d be. Admit it, I did better than you thought.” Her eyes were glittering.

“Yes, doc.” There was no point in arguing; Eir would insist until he gave the answer she wanted.

Kurien bent to retrieve the black chessmen he’d captured and paused. The light was getting dim and they almost blended into the carpet. They’d started playing around three in the afternoon, and now it was past five-thirty. No need to guess at the time of day when he’d managed to get dressed and put on his old Australian watch. The clothes alone were criterion for a good day, but the fact that he’d managed to lose himself in the game and silence his nagging brain for a couple hours made the day one of the rare ones.

“I actually feel good.” He set the chessmen on the coffee table but did not arranged them for a new game. “Well, maybe not good. Better. I might fix the robots tomorrow.” He paused, thinking about running diagnostic test and ripping the bots’ metal guts. “Maybe that’s too ambitious. How about I do laundry instead. And get groceries.” With that, he wandered into the kitchen, intending to make a list.

Eir didn’t follow him. “Can you get me some of the pastries I like?” she called. “The custard ones are my favorites.”

Kurien frowned and stuck his head back into the living room. “Do we have to? Just knowing they’re in the house makes me want to eat the whole box.”

“How about you just get one then, and I’ll eat it as soon as I get home.” She seemed to notice the notepad in his hand. “You’re actually writing things down? Well, aren’t you productive?”

“Just watch,” said Kurien. “Before you know it, I’ll be back on proper missions, working fourteen-hour days and thinking nothing of it.” As soon at he’d said it, though, he had to frown. He had absolutely no desire to go back to his old life.

But somehow, the mention of missions seemed to make Eir thoughtful. At any rate, she looked down at the black queen in her hand. Rolled it between her fingers, as if using it to fidget while she thought about something else. If Kurien remembered their mercenary days in terms of hopping around like the Administrator’s trained rats, Eir remembered them in terms of adventure and glory. Better pay than any of them had dreamed of, jetting to six continents, that unstoppable feeling you got when everyone was eager and docile before your boss’s money and power. Killing, fucking, and stitching up the people she met along the way Or maybe it wasn’t so much about the flash and it was about the sense of power and control she’d gotten from their work. Orders of magnitude more power than she had now, as she sat in the house where Kurien _let her live_ as she _didn’t do anything_. 

“Maybe someday.” Admittedly, no one knew if Eir would ever be well enough to live on her own again, much less return to work. Then again, she’d spent yesterday hearing the voices and ripping out her hair. Today, she’d beaten Kurien at arimaa. Things would never get back to the way they had been before. The two of them might not ever be truly well again, and life might not ever be objectively good again, But as Kurien looked at Eir, her chessmen still in her winning position, he felt confident that things could at least get better.

**The End**

 


End file.
